


Twisted Are Our Words

by thehedonistspurge



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drunken Confessions, Extended Drunk Scene, Fluff, Good Omens Summer Gift Exchange, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Platonic Love, Romantic love, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 05:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20515313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehedonistspurge/pseuds/thehedonistspurge
Summary: A drunken conversation, an untimely confession and a bastard intruder.Or whereGabriel asks quite pointedly, “What is that?” He is clearly referring to Crowley who is in his snake form, lying very still on Aziraphale’s sofa. His features morph to show a quiet disdain as it always does.Aziraphale’s eyes dart from Crowley to Gabriel. Crowley notes the panic in those eyes.“Er. It is a bolster which is a human thing. It is actually just a long cylindrical pillow… that is shaped as a serpent,” Aziraphale says, slightly patting the middle of Crowley’s form.Gabriel nods, looking almost fascinated. Aziraphale breathes a small sigh of relief but his breath catches in his throat again when Gabriel approaches them.“Why a serpent, Aziraphale?” he asks, obviously not quite finished with this topic yet.





	Twisted Are Our Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).

> The drunk scene extended.

Crowley falls onto Aziraphale’s sofa, sprawling over it. He blurts out, “Am just sayin’, if it comes to it, I will do it.” He emphasizes his point by wagging his index finger.

Their conversation about the Apocalypse was going so well until this. Perhaps it was better not to speak of hypotheticals such as one that goes, “What if you’re called back to serve? Hypothetically of course. All the angels got to do it. No exceptions.” 

Aziraphale regretted it almost immediately as Crowley effectively cursed for 5 minutes straight using all manner of insults known to man.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but sigh. “You’re really going to leave? But what about your Bentley? Or your apartment?” Aziraphale really wants to add, ‘_ What about me? _’ but it is a bit too much for him to say such a thing or bring it up in their polite but increasingly inebriated conversation.

“I wouldn’t leave without some things of course. For one, we could always shrink the Bentley. Make it as a toy car. The apartment I don’t care for it too much because it will be safe anyway-”

“How will your apartment be safe? It will be destroyed, won’t it?” Aziraphale asks, cutting Crowley off. If Aziraphale was less drunk, he would have focused on Crowley’s use of the word, ‘we’.

“Oh, the apartment is connected to Hell. So it’s like a part of it. But no one else knows,” Crowley says before pausing to take a drink, grinning at his ingenuity. “Took a bit of a miracle to pull that off.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Crowley,” Aziraphale states plainly, his mind going in overdrive. _ Because if Crowley’s apartment is connected to hell, then why does Crowley always take the main entrance with Aziraphale when they report to their respective head offices? Even when it isn’t official business for Crowley, he goes to the main entrance when Aziraphale also has to pop in. _

“It does _ actually _ make perfect sense. Just a bit of Hell on Earth,” he says, removing his sunglasses and casting them off to the side. “It took a lot of covering up. Can’t have Beelz finding out…”

Aziraphale doesn’t hear him or anything for that matter, simply focusing on that unravelling thread. _ Of course, Crowley probably likes making an entrance, right? Unless… _

Aziraphale swirls the whiskey in his glass, thinking back from when they first met, the Garden of Eden all the way to the present _ now _. He thinks of all the words spoken, laughter and shouting that went between them. He remembers the emotions that flickered between Crowley’s eyebrows and later, behind the ridge of his sunglasses.

There were and still are all these cues that Aziraphale doesn’t know what to take of. A smile here, a grin there. 

A memory comes to him as bright as day. The “Shut up,” muttered behind a smirk in 1941. He felt something then. Something undeniable. 

_ There was so much unspoken because of the long gaps between their meetings that he didn’t know how to breach the subject. He thought that he was seeing things that weren’t there or feeling things that weren’t meant for him. _

Aziraphale places his glass down, folding his hands and cupping his face. _ It was too much. How could he have not seen? _

Perhaps it was inevitable that Aziraphale starts to laugh. It is debatable whether it stemmed from the alcohol, realization or a blessed mixture of both. It is short lived but it has Crowley sitting up and alert.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asks worriedly. He had shut up fairly soon when he saw Aziraphale out of it. _Maybe they had too much to drink._ _Yes, that is probably it._

Just as Crowley wants to sober up, Aziraphale finds it in himself to ask hopefully, “What about me?”

If Aziraphale is right, he would know based on Crowley’s answer. 

“What about you?” Crowley replies, still confounded. “Are you alright, angel? You’ve been… off.”

Aziraphale beams at the nickname. _ Angel. _Crowley hasn’t answered the question but was there ever a doubt at all? To Aziraphale, it is clear that there are none.

He looks at Crowley, into his yellow eyes, finding bewilderment in them not unlike in the Garden of Eden when he tells a certain someone he gave his flaming sword away. He hears the answering, “You WHAT,” as clear as a bell.

Aziraphale moves to get up. “Twisted are our words. And they are oft misread and misheard. And untimely misinterpreted,” Aziraphale recites walking towards where Crowley is sitting. The words are lifted off a manuscript gathering dust on one of his shelves.

“Poetry? I am no good at that, Aziraphale,” Crowley says testily as Aziraphale sits beside him.

“But you are so very good, Crowley.” Aziraphale leans back, his shoulder to his waist pressed against Crowley’s side. It is comfortable. It _ feels _ right.

There is a pause before Crowley’s slow seething retort, “Please do not use four letter words to describe me, angel.”

There is no heat behind it. Emboldened by this, Aziraphale starts, “I have only just realised something, Crowley.”

“Hmm,” Crowley offers back, peering at Aziraphale underneath his lashes.

“We are ineffable,” Aziraphale says without preamble. _ There is an Apocalypse coming and he has only realised this. A part of him wants to laugh again. _

He continues, voice unwavering, “And what we have is ineffable.”

Crowley has gone deathly still at Aziraphale’s side. However, Crowley does breathe out a question. “Are you sure?”

Aziraphale waits for Crowley look back at him. “As sure as I know that deep down you are a good person.”

“Again with the four letter word,” Crowley grumbles goodnaturedly. “You know this means that we need to stop the Apocalypse?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale quips. “But that can wait until tomorrow, I think.”

They share a brief smile and a mutual understanding. _ They are going to need to reassess their Arrangement to incorporate whatever this new thing is between them, _ Crowley thinks. Crowley melts into the sofa as Aziraphale curls up to him. Like Aziraphale said, it can wait until tomorrow. Crowley gazes at Aziraphale by his side. _ Believe it or not there is an our side, _ he wants to whisper into Airaphales ear. Crowley firmly believes this and allows his eyes to drift close.

  


There is no rest for the good or wicked as there is flash of celestial light and a flutter of wings. Aziraphale sobers up with a start, breathing harshly. He glances to Crowley who reflexively turns into his snake form.

It is Gabriel standing in front of them both. He clasps his hands together, no doubt having picked it up from some Christian media. 

Gabriel speaks, his voice filling the air, “Principality Aziraphale. It has been some time since we have seen you upstairs.”

“Yes, indeed,” Aziraphale says amicably. However, internally he is taking a page from Crowley’s book which involves colourful language.

“Just came to check on you with the Apocalypse coming and all.” Gabriel brushes off the imaginary dust of his coat. “Have you seen the demon Crowley?”

“No, I have not,” Aziraphale lies smoothly.

“Well, I’d better return to head office, then,” Gabriel informs before he spots Crowley.

Gabriel asks quite pointedly, “What is that?” He is clearly referring to Crowley who is in his snake form, lying very still on Aziraphale’s sofa. His features morph to show a quiet disdain as it always does.

Aziraphale’s eyes dart from Crowley to Gabriel. Crowley notes the panic in those eyes.

“Er. It is a bolster which is a human thing. It is actually just a long cylindrical pillow… that is shaped as a serpent,” Aziraphale says, slightly patting the middle of Crowley’s form.

Gabriel nods, looking almost fascinated. Aziraphale breathes a small sigh of relief but his breath catches in his throat again when Gabriel approaches them.

“Why a serpent, Aziraphale?” he asks, obviously not quite finished with this topic yet.

Aziraphale puts on his most convincing smile. “Er. To remind me of the williest of serpents, the demon Crowley.”

“Good. But why is it moving?” 

True enough, Crowley was very slowly but very visibly moving off the sofa. _ What the heavens is Crowley trying to do? _Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s tail to stop him from so obviously slithering away. Crowley thankfully, gets the message.

Again Aziraphale lies, “It generates heat through friction. Intended to keep humans warm I suppose.”

Gabriel nods but asks, “How?”

Aziraphale begins, despite knowing nothing much about mechanics, “It has a motor that makes it… vibrate-”

A light bulb goes off above Gabriel’s head, he’s got it. “Ah. It is like a vibrator, yes?”

“Er. No-” Aziraphale tries to explain but feels a nudge from Crowley. “Yes, it is,” he says. “It is like a vibrator.”

“Vibrators, hmm.” Gabriel considers it as he vanishes from this plane of existence.

Aziraphale is rather peaky when the Archangel finally leaves. Crowley turns back and rests his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley starts laughing first, low and almost giggly. Aziraphale joins him when he feels Crowley’s laughter reverberate through him.

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this at 12:30 p.m. and ended at 4 p.m. today with a lunch break in between.
> 
> “Twisted are our words. And they are oft misread and misheard. And untimely misinterpreted.” These words are in fact, lifted from my own unfinished manuscript.
> 
> Also this is my first gift exchange! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please drop a kudos or a comment if you liked it. I will always reply to your comments (though I may be late) so if you have any notes, opinions or questions, I would love to hear it!


End file.
